


Never Before, Never Again

by Zoejoy24



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Broken Bones, Broyo, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship, Threats of Violence, Torture, Whump, live streaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: When the nature of Gil and Malcolm's relationship is misunderstood by an unstable killer, Malcolm finds himself in a dangerous situation that's already resulted in the death of three other men.  While the team watches over live stream, Malcolm faces a lose-lose situation as he's forced to choose between begging for forgiveness for something he didn't do, or face his captor's wrath.  AS the night stretches on, Malcolm and Gil are forced to come to terms with how they feel about each other, and realize that maybe there wasn't much of a misunderstanding at all.Based on the prompt “Smile for the camera, baby.  Show your love how much you miss them,” fromthis poston Tumblr.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 21
Kudos: 110





	Never Before, Never Again

**NOW**

“You’re making a mistake. I swear to you, whatever you think you saw, it wasn’t what it seemed.” Malcolm can’t see his captor, but he knows she’s there. He’d heard her come into the room several minutes ago. She’s somewhere behind him—his motor control hasn’t returned enough for him to roll over, yet—and though she hasn’t spoken he can still hear the occasional rustle or footfall as she works.

He knows it’s _her_ , though. He recognizes the room from the live streams he’s seen of her previous victims. His position mirrors that of all the previous victims at the start of the videos as well—stripped down to just his pants, hands bound behind his back with a thin chord that cuts into the skin and leaves his fingers feeling numb, ankles tied together. He’s laying in the circle of light provided by the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, facing away from the camera, but he knows it's there. What he doesn’t know is why she’d taken _him._

**TWO DAYS AGO**

“You think our killer is a woman?” JT scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest, ‘prove it’ written all over his face as he raises an eyebrow and stares Malcolm down.

“Yes, I do. A woman scorned. In all the videos, the killer accuses each man of being unfaithful, but I believe our killer is a woman who was cheated on. In fact, it’s likely that her first victim was her significant other. Also, the fact that our killer is using some sort of voice distortion to disguise their voice supports my theory as well.”

“Okay but, these men aren’t exactly small. How’s a chick getting them out of a club and into her creepy lair? No offense,” JT asks, turning to give Dani an apologetic glance as he finishes speaking.

Dani purses her lips and gives him a narrow eyed glare, but nods in agreement. “He’s right. These are big dudes. It would be a lot of work for her to get them from point A to point B without drawing any attention to herself. And so far, none of our witnesses remembers seeing anything suspicious.”

“She drugs them. Edrisa said she found trace amounts of different depressants and relaxants in the victim's blood work. It’s likely the men felt and looked drunk when our suspect left with them. No one would question a drunk man leaving with a woman. And, she’s not tiny herself.” The figure on the video could pass as an average sized man, or a tall woman.

JT, Dani, and Gil are all silent for a moment, thinking over Malcolm’s assessment, searching for holes or information gaps.

“Alright,” Gil says finally, pushing off of the table where he’s been leaning and walking over to join Malcolm by the case board. “We know at least three of our victims were at the same bar within two days of going missing. Let’s start there. Also, we need to talk to the families, find out if there are any other commonalities between our victims, anywhere else they may have encountered our mystery woman.”

**NOW**

With what feels like a monumental effort, Malcolm is finally able to roll himself over and take in the rest of the space where he’s being held. He sees the camera immediately, the flashing red indicator that it’s recording shining bright and clear through the dim light of the room. The woman stands several feet beyond it, behind a small table, mostly obscured by shadow, leaning back against the wall. He can’t make out her features, but it’s clear she’s watching him.

“Hey. Look, my name is Malcolm. I’m guessing you saw me at the bar? Last night?” he ventures, keeping his voice low and steady as he addresses his captor.

She’s unstable, and capable of a startling level of vicious violence when she’s triggered. But her rage isn’t irrational, it has a very specific target, and if he can convince her that she’s made a mistake she may let him go.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, or give any indication that she’d heard him all at, but he presses on all the same.

“I know who you are, what you’ve been doing. I work with the NYPD. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I promise I’m not like those other men.”

“Enough!” the woman screams, shooting up off the wall and stalking forward. Just like in the previous videos, her face is covered with a plain black mask and the hood of her dark sweatshirt is raised. Her clothes are baggy and non-descript, easily concealing any indications of gender or body type. But her voice is definitely feminine.

“I know what I saw,” she continues to yell. “You can play innocent all you like, but I know what you really are. You’re just like him. Just like all the others, and I’m going to make you pay!”

Malcolm remains still, watching her warily as she paces and rants a few feet away. He feels a small thrill of satisfaction at having his profile confirmed, although the conditions of the confirmation are less than ideal. He thinks back to the night before, at the bar, trying to think of what could possibly have led her to believe that he was there with someone, and then cheated on them.

**LAST NIGHT**

“Remind me again how I got dragged along to the bar with you?” Gil grumbled as they walked into the building. 

Malcolm bit back on a grin at his complaints, scanning the crowd already gathered in the space even though it’s early in the evening. “Because Dani and JT both have lives, and we don’t,” he reminds him. 

It’s only partially true. While JT did have a pregnant wife to get home too, Dani could have come out instead of Gil. But she’d spent all day talking to family members and Malcolm and Gil both knew she was ready for a break from questioning witnesses. 

They wander the floor for a few moments, taking in the crowd, the dynamics, and checking the location of security cameras. Malcolm’s looking everywhere but in front of his own two feet, his mind working a mile a minute as he calculates escape routes and meeting points and how easy it would be to drug someone’s drink. He doesn’t even see the step down in front of him until it’s too late, and he would have gone sprawling if it weren’t for Gil’s quick reflexes. His hand snaps out, catching Malcolm by the elbow and supporting him till he gets his feet under him again.

Malcolm shoots the man a sheepish grin which Gil returns with an eye roll. He slides his hand up from Malcolm’s elbow to rest on the back of his neck, guiding him firmly through the crowds like a wayward puppy.

“I don’t need a minder, Gil. I’m paying attention,” Malcolm pouts as Gil steers him towards the bar.

“It’s fine. You focus on whatever that brain of yours is focusing on, and I’ll make sure you don’t knock yourself unconscious or knock over a waitress,” Gil insists.

Malcolm huffs in annoyed amusement, but he doesn’t argue. It’s _nice_ , actually. To have Gil there, looking out for him, letting him do his job the way he does it best.

They talk to the bartenders, and the manager, and thanks to a warrant they get copies of the security footage from the past two weeks. They stand next to the bar while they wait for the copies, leaning in close so they can talk without being overheard, comparing impressions and hunches.

“You go home, Gil. I’m going to stick around a little longer. Chat some people up, try to see if any of the regulars remember seeing anything,” Malcolm tells the older man once they have the videos.

“ _You_ are going to chat some people up?” Gil asks incredulously. 

Malcolm gasps, raising his hand to his chest. “You don’t think I can flirt?” he asks, his expression oozing feigned indignation.

Gil laughs and rolls his eyes. “As long as you don’t start talking about Dahmer or Lecter you should be fine.”

“Lecter isn’t real,” Malcolm mutters sullenly, drawing another chuckle from Gil.

“Be careful, kid. I’m serious. Just because you don’t fit the victim pool doesn’t mean you should go poking around too closely. Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“Yes sir,” Malcolm agrees with a mock salute before turning and heading back towards the bar with a smile.

**NOW**

“Sit up,” his captor orders. She has a gun, a small pistol that he’d never noticed on any of the video streams before, but it makes sense that she’d have a way to threaten her victims into submission.

He knows what's coming, how she intends for this to end. He might as well just let her shoot him. But, no. He can still talk her down, and he only needs to stall long enough for the team to find them. They have the profile and the video tapes. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out who she is.

He complies. He pulls his knees in, getting his legs under him, rolling and lifting himself up till he’s kneeling before her. His head spins with the motion and he nearly topples back over, struggling to keep his balance with his ankles tied together and his hands bound behind him, but he manages to stay upright.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he tries again. 

She lashes out with a snarl, striking him across the face with the hand holding the gun and sending him sprawling to the ground once more. He bites back on the groan that threatens to work it’s way past his lips, conscious of the camera on him. He can feel the barely there itch of blood trickling down his cheek and guesses that the gun cut him when she hit him. He’s sure it will leave a mark that will be visible on camera. He doesn’t even know who’s watching, who she’d send the link to, because _he isn’t seeing anyone._

“You were there with a man. You spent all evening with him,” she hisses, her tone accusatory. “I was _there_ , I saw you both.”

Malcolm’s head snaps up at that, eyes narrowed in momentary confusion before they widen as realization dawns. “Oh, Gil? No, he’s—”

“Gil. So that’s his name. The man you betrayed!” she interrupts. She pulls a phone from her back pocket and stalks over to him. She reaches down to grab a fistful of his hair. He can’t quite contain the hiss of pain as she hauls him back up to his knees, then pushes his head forward so he’s bent over, face practically pressed into his knees. 

She grabs his hand and presses his finger against something and Malcolm realizes the phone was his, and she’s unlocking it.

“What are you doing?” he gasps out as she steps away and walks back towards the camera. “Look, check the messages, you’ll see—”

“See what, your lies? Messages hide things. They mean nothing,” she spits.

“No, you’ll see that he’s just my boss. We’re not… it’s not that kind of a relationship,” Malcolm explains, finally getting it all out as she flicks through his phone.

“Your boss? Please,” she scoffs, typing something into the phone. “There! It’s sent. Now he can see how sorry you are. Well, how sorry you will be,” she exclaims, sliding the phone back into her pocket and turning her full attention to Malcolm once more.

He tries not too, but he can’t quite help glancing up at the camera, heart sinking as he realizes she must have used his phone to send Gil the link to the live stream. Which means from this point on it’s likely Gil, and the team, will see it all.

“I swear to you, it isn’t like that,” Malcolm repeats. “We work together. He’s known me for years, he’s practically my father—”

“I don’t care what sort of weird shit you’re into,” his captor cuts in. She isn’t listening, not really. It’s clear that she’s fixated on whatever fantasy she thinks she saw the night before, and she won’t acknowledge anything outside of it.

She steps back behind the table and opens a laptop, the screen illuminating the area around her. Malcolm watches her, trying to think of a new tactic, wondering what he could say to convince her that he’s telling the truth.

“Well, that was quick. Time to get started, I guess,” she says, eyes tracking something on the screen for a moment longer before she turns her attention back to him. “Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I… I didn’t. You’re not listening to me!” he exclaims. 

She moves quickly, striding forward and striking out, kicking him in the ribs and sending him back to the ground. She steps forward and slams the toe of her boot into his stomach and he doubles over, choking and nearly retching with the pain and the force of the blow. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to school his features into something neutral. He doesn’t want them to see him in pain. It will only make their job harder.

His captor is breathing heavily, seething behind her mask. “You’re not listening! Stop. Lying. You’ve lied enough. It’s time to confess, to beg for forgiveness. It’s time for you to be sorry for what you did.”

Malcolm tries to speak, but the words get caught in his throat and it comes out as a wheezing, gasping sound instead as he struggles to suck air back into his lungs. Seeing him struggle seems to placate her somewhat, and she takes a step back.

“Are you sorry for what you did?” she repeats.

“Yeah,” he manages to gasp out. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Not sorry enough,” she mutters. “But you will be.” 

He isn’t sure if she’s talking to him, if she even knows she’s said it out loud, so he doesn’t respond. 

She walks away, and keeps walking, straight out the door at the back of the room, leaving him lying on the floor, camera rolling.

***

Gil is pacing in his office when the text comes.

He hadn’t heard from Malcolm the evening before, and while it’s possible the kid just forgot to tell him he made it home safely, he hasn’t heard from him all day, either, and he’s worried. He sent Dani to get a copy of the security footage from the night before, but no one would be in at the bar for another couple of hours. He’d put out an unofficial missing persons notice, asking the unis on duty to keep an eye out for Bright, and had cyber tracking his phone. According to the techs it had been off all morning, so when Gil sees that the text is from Malcolm his heart leaps into his throat.

He opens the message, pulse racing. As soon as he sees the link his heart plummets down to the pit of his stomach and he has to sit down as a cold wave of fear washes over him. He knows what it is without evening opening the link. There’s only one thing it could be.

There’s a light rap at his office door and Dani sticks her head in. “Hey boss, I’m gonna head—Gil? What happened?” she asks as soon as she sees the expression on his face, stepping fully into his office and closing the door behind her. “Gil? Is it Malcolm?” she asks again, voice firm, but soft.

He nods, unable to find his voice, and passes his phone over to her. She takes it without question. One quick glance is all it takes for her to realize what she’s looking at.

“Shit. _Shit_. Okay. We need to get cyber on this, now. Can I bring them your phone?” she asks.

Gil nods, clearing his throat before trying to speak. “Yeah. Send it over, tell them to do whatever they need. Ask them to set a feed up in the conference room.”

Dani nods and hurries out. Gil takes a moment to calm his racing heart and collect his thoughts. They have time. Malcolm has time. But he can’t afford to fall apart. He gathers himself with one final, shaky breath, then heads into the bullpen to track down JT and get to work on finding Bright.

They all know what to expect once the techs get the video up and running in the conference room. But knowing what to expect doesn’t actually prepare him to see Bright on the screen. 

It looks like every other video they’ve watched for this case, and he tries to compartmentalize it as just another victim, just another piece of evidence to examine. It doesn’t work. As soon as he sees Malcolm’s bloody and bruised face—the way it twists in pain when she kicks him, the way he tries so hard to hide that he’s hurting because he knows they are watching. It steals the breath from Gil’s lungs and he has to lean back against the table to keep himself from sliding down to the ground. 

It physically hurts to watch Malcolm on the screen. To hear him gasping for air, and to see the raw fear he can’t quite hide even though Gil can tell he’s trying so hard to be brave. 

“I don’t understand,” JT says after the second time Malcolm’s captor asks him if he’s sorry, after Malcolm apologizes and his captor leaves the screen. “Why take Bright? And why send you the link? All of our other victims have been in serious relationships.”

Gil shakes his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he gathers his thoughts, keeping one eye on the screen where Malcolm lies, un-moving. “They must have been at the bar last night,” he guesses. “They, she? Must have seen us together and assumed we’re _together_.”

“I can see that,” Dani agrees. 

Gil jerks his head up to look at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just, you’re a very tactile person, boss. And from the outside looking in, you two seem… close. Which, I mean, you are close. But like, _close,_ ” Dani tries to explain.

“Hey guys. I know you’re watching, and I just want to say that I was right,” the same distorted voice comes through the speakers, but this time it’s Malcolm who’s speaking. He’s managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, though he’s hunched, and Gil can already see the bruises forming on his bare chest. He’s looking up at the camera, a weak smile playing over his lips, but the dried blood and bruising on his cheek are more than enough to remind them of the seriousness of the situation, even if he’s smiling through the pain.

“She’s definitely a she,” Malcolm continues. 

Dani and JT both scoff incredulously while Gil mutters ‘unbelievable’ under his breath, not sure if the kid’s resilience and humor in the face of danger makes him want to laugh or cry.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t remember how I got here, but she took me from the bar. She thinks Gil and I are a thing, as you’ve probably guessed. I think I’m going to have to go along with it. Sorry, Gil.”

Even with the distortion Gil can hear the apology in Malcolm’s voice, and it’s clear in his expression as well—he always did wear his heart on his sleeve.

“Don’t apologize, kid,” Gil murmurs, though he knows Malcolm can’t hear him. He trusts that Malcolm will do whatever he has to to survive until they find him. And they _will_ find him. The other victims had been kept for days. They have time. Malcolm has time.

“I’ll try to get her to reveal our location, or something else that’s useful. I’m sorry, Gil. You told me to be careful. One of these days I’ll learn to listen,” Malcolm continues, and Gil chuckles, though it sounds suspiciously like a sob. 

“Oh kid,” he mutters.

“We’re gonna find him, Gil. The techs are running down the location now. It’s just a matter of time. Between what they got off his phone and this, we’re gonna find him.”

***

With no natural light it’s impossible to judge the passing of time in the cellar. Malcolm shares what information he has with the team and then his mind starts to drift. He lays back down, awkwardly shifting to try to find a position that’s bearable with the way his arms are bound behind him. He can still feel the effects of whatever drugs she’d used on him wearing him down, and he lets his eyes slip closed, content to try to sleep it off as best as he can. Plus, sitting up hurts, hiis stomach still aching from the blows earlier.

It’s… strange, being on this end of the camera. He knows he’s being watched; if not by the team, than by someone else from the department. There will always be somebody monitoring the feed. Part of him feels the urge to keep talking, to fill the silence between him and his audience. But he doesn’t have any more useful information to share, and rambling would probably not end well.

He’s honestly surprised that his captor had left him alone while still filming. She must be confident in her ability to cover her tracks and hide her identity. Or so caught up in her own delusions that she doesn’t even realize the potential consequences of leaving him unattended.

“Small blessings,” he mutters. He can feel himself drifting off, but keeps talking while the thought is fresh in his mind. “She doesn’t believe that I work with the NYPD or that Gil is a cop. I can use that.” He doesn’t even know if the camera can pick up what he’s saying, but he drifts off into oblivion with a self-satisfied smile on his face.

The peace and quiet don’t last long. He’s woken with the bang of a door and his captor storming back into the room. She’s visibly angry; her fists are clenched so tightly her knuckles are white, and she’s muttering under her breath. Malcolm’s first thought is that she’d seen him talking to the team, but she barely even acknowledges him when she comes into the room. Something else has her worked up. Or, maybe she’s working herself up, dredging up old memories to remind herself of why she’s doing what she’s doing. He watches her carefully with half-open eyes, keeping still and silent, feigning sleep to observe her as long as he can.

“Wake up!” she screams eventually, stalking towards him. “How can you sleep, knowing what you’ve done?” She pulls him upright by the hair again and Malcolm gasps at the sharp stab of pain that spikes through his skull.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, and maybe it’s a little over done, but submission seems to please her. 

“You’re _pathetic_ ,” she hisses out. “Sorry because you got caught sleeping, but not because you got caught cheating!”

“No, I am! I swear. I never should have done it,” he admits. It hurts to sit up, his stomach and chest are throbbing and he can see the bruising there, but he’s fairly certain nothing is broken. There’s no sharp pain or intense discomfort when he breathes. It just aches, like beatings do. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

“I saw the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. How could you just throw that kind of love away?” she demands, pacing again but in front of him, glaring down at him.

He… doesn’t have an answer. His brain short-circuits, replaying her words over and over. _The way he touched, looked. Love._ It’s not true, it _can’t_ be true. Yes, Gil might love him, but only as a father. He’s protective and caring, but not because it’s like _that_. Malcolm would understand if she’d caught _him_ giving Gil looks. He’s had a crush on the lieutenant for years, over a decade. A crush he was able to hide by leaving the city for 10 years. But Gil doesn’t see him like that. Gil was married. To a woman. He…

“What are you thinking about?” his captor hisses out sharply, dropping to a squat in front of him and fisting her hand in his hair once more, pulling his head up so he’s forced to meet her gaze. “Are you thinking about _him_?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm answers honestly. “Yeah I… look. You’re right, okay? We were at the bar together. But I swear to you, I didn’t know. We aren’t a couple. We never were,” he tells her honestly. Maybe a little drama, a little sob story about unrequited love will pique her interest, garner him some sympathy. “I never thought he’d see me like that.”

“God, you must be blind,” she says with disgust, releasing his hair and standing once more, looking down on him with her hands on her hips. “Anyone with eyes could see it. Were you playing hard to get? Trying to make him jealous by flirting with half the bar after he left?” she demands, the anger in her voice growing as she speaks until she’s yelling once mor. “You make me sick!” She lashes out at him with a flat-footed kick against his chest that sends him falling backwards, head cracking against the concrete floor as he lands, unable to catch himself.

Things get a little fuzzy after that. It hurts to breathe, to move, to _think._ She keeps talking, screaming, maybe at him, maybe not, he can’t tell. She kicks him again in the ribs, on the opposite side of where she had the first time. _A matching set,_ he thinks dimly, and he starts to laugh at his own joke, but it hurts, and turns into a wheezing cough as he tries to breathe through the sudden spike of pain in his chest.

She picks him up again, though this time it’s with an arm hooked under his and a hand wrapped around his bicep instead of in his hair, settling him on his knees once more. He sucks in a shuddering breath and nearly tilts over once more as his abused core muscles struggle to hold him upright. She catches him with a _tsk_ of annoyance, holding him in place till he finds his balance and stops swaying quite so much.

“I think you need to be reminded of everything you threw away,” she tells him, stepping back to stand next to the camera. 

He lifts his head, just enough to look up at her before his eyes dart involuntarily over towards the camera.

“He’s watching, you know. I can see it here. So tell him. Tell him how you feel about him. What you love about him. He deserves to know, don’t you think? If you’re really sorry, then tell him so. Make him believe it. Maybe he’ll forgive you one day.”

Malcolm drops his head once more, shaking it as he looks at the floor and tries to think of something he can say to make her understand. But she’s completely unhinged, 100% committed to her version of reality. It doesn’t matter what he says, she either twists it, or denies it completely.

“Tell him!” she screams, but it’s the click of the pistol being cocked that really gets his attention.

He looks up with a start, eyes fixed on the small weapon. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell him. What… what do you want me to say?” He’s not afraid of getting shot, but he doesn’t want his team to have to see that. It would destroy them, especially Gil. Whatever she wants from him, it’s just words, a small price to pay for his life.

“Tell him why you love him. Give me all the dirty details. I don’t want you to hold anything back. He deserves to know.”

Malcolm can feel his face flushing with embarrassment at the order, because he’s got a whole list of things he loves about Gil, but he is not keen on sharing those while the man himself, and Dani and JT and who knows who else, are watching. But, at least he won’t have to struggle to come up with answers. A small silver lining. 

“His eyes,” Malcolm starts. The obvious go to for any ‘what do you like about them’ answer. “They’re kind. Soft. Even when I mess up and he’s mad his eyes still show me he cares.” God, he feels like an idiot, a teenager gushing over their latest crush. “And his, uh. His hands. They’re strong, and big. Big enough to uh, to hold me. His fingers are long, um.” He pauses again, heat flaring in his face as he studiously avoids looking at the camera. “He knows just how I like to be touched,” Malcolm presses on, delving into his own personal fantasies now. “He knows when to be gentle, and when I want it rough.” 

_What am I saying, what am I saying?_ Malcolm’s brain repeats over and over even as he continues to speak. _It’s just an act. It means nothing. It’s just words for her satisfaction, to keep you alive,_ he answers himself.

“He’s always there for me,” Malcolm continues, steering his thoughts away from Gil being rough with him. “He takes care of me, and he’s saved my life more than once.” He pauses, glancing over at his captor to see if she’s satisfied. She huffs, gesturing with her hand for him to continue. “He’s uh, hardworking. Dedicated,” Malcolm continues, unsure of what else she expects him to tell her.

“Boring!” she exclaims. “You sound like a hallmark card. Tell him how you really feel! That’s what he wants to hear!” She’s yelling, but she isn’t angry. She sounds impassioned, invested. Whoever had hurt her had obviously done more than just cheated on her. She forces her victims to do all the things her partner never had, they’d seen similar exercises on previous videos. 

Malcolm thinks back to those, recalling what the victims had said to finally satisfy her. They’d been… detailed, explicit even, and he’s not sure if he can do that.

“It’s not. We’re not like that,” he tells her with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what else to tell you—”

She snarls, launching herself at him and smacking him hard across the face, sending him sprawling back. The blow reignites the low grade ache that had settled into his skull after he’d knocked it on the floor earlier, bright lights dancing before his eyes, his head pounding, the pain spiking with each frantic beat of his heart. She follows him down, straddling his hips and leaning down over him, her hands on his chest.

He stares up at her with wide, startled eyes, blinking to clear the stars from his eyes. 

This is different. She’d never touched any of her other victims. But, they’d all started confessing and begging forgiveness a few minutes into their captivity. He didn’t have anything to confess, and it was infuriating her, making her even more unstable than she already was.

She’s seething, glaring down at him from beneath her hood, fingers digging painfully into his chest. “You’re telling me he’s never touched you?” she spits out. “He’s never run his fingers through your hair, over your skin?” She shifts her weight back, dragging her hands down over his ribs and back up again in a mockery of a lover's caress, then leaning down far enough to whisper into his ear, her words muffled by the mask and barely audible. “He’s never kissed you, licked his way up your neck? Down your chest?” She’s rubbing herself against him lewdly, and thankfully she’s situated too high on his hips for the motion to really _register._

“He, he rubs my back, holds my neck. It feels safe. Like home. It’s how I know he cares,” Malcolm tells her, voice soft, his words genuine. “That’s what you saw, right? At the bar? You’re right, you’re right I was blind. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. I didn’t _know._ ” But that’s all. Nothing else.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks, refusing to back down from the rage burning there, willing her to accept the truth of his words.

She pushes off of him with a snarl, rising to her feet once more and stalking away.

“What was his name?” Malcolm calls out after her. “The man who hurt you?”

“What? Why would I tell you that?” she demands.

“It might help. To talk about it?” he suggests.

“With you? You’re just like him.”

“I’m not. I promise, I’m not.”

“His name was Noah,” she grits out after a brief pause. “He was my husband, and I killed him, right here in this basement. Just like I’m going to kill you. But not until you’re sorry. I’m going to make you sorry.” 

With that she yanks the door open, pulling it shut behind her with a bang that rattles the floorboards above him and sends dust floating down.

It takes several long moments for him to regain his breath, but when he’s able, Malcolm turns his head to face the camera, groaning softly as the movement sends a fiery spike of pain through his still pounding skull.

“Noah,” he gasps out, eyes still watering. “I’m guessing he’s her first. Find him, and you find her. I think… I think you should hurry.” He doesn’t want to admit that he’s afraid, but his captor is unraveling, and he has a feeling he’s running out of time.

***

“We’ve got a face. It’s blurry, but it’s definitely our girl!” JT exclaims as he rushes into the conference room, laptop in hand. He slides it over to where Gil is sitting, staring blankly at the screen where Malcolm lays, sleeping or passed out, he isn’t sure, bruised and bloodied.

He tears his gaze away to look at the image on the computer screen. JT presses play and the security footage starts up. It’s blurry, the lighting in the bar concealing most of the features of the people walking on and off the screen. “There,” JT says, pointing to two figures who are leaving the bar arm in arm.

Gil recognizes Malcolm immediately. He remembers the suit he’d been wearing that night, and though his hair has flopped down over his face and his head is tilted forward, he knows it’s his boy.

The woman with him is clearly supporting him, though Malcolm seems to be walking out on his own strength, not so much leaning against the woman as being dragged along by her. Her features are blurry, but it’s clear she’s got an inch or two on Bright, and her hair is long and blonde. It’s blurry, but it’s enough.

“I know her. She works there,” Gil says, his brain kicking into gear as he thinks back to the night before, trying to place exactly where he’d seen the woman in the security footage. “At the bar!”

“She’s a bartender?” JT presses.

“No, I don’t think so. Bar back, maybe? She wasn’t taking orders or making drinks. But she was definitely working behind the bar.”

JT gathers up the laptop and rushes towards the door. “I’ll get in touch with the bar, figure out who she is. We’re close, boss,” JT insists. “Dani’s running down a lead on Noah, and the tech’s said they had a breakthrough with the location data. As soon as we get her name, we’re gonna go get him.”

Gil nods his acknowledgement, but doesn’t speak. His nerves are shot and he’s emotionally drained. The last few hours of footage had been shocking. Beyond the pain and frustration of watching Malcolm being hurt and being helpless to do anything about it, he’s still reeling from the way his relationship had been dragged out into the light. 

There’s nothing between them, but he can’t deny he hasn’t wished there was, on occasion. Listening to Malcolm describe him the way he had had done a number on him, causing Gil to rethink everything he’d assumed about the kid, and him. Obviously he could be lying, telling the crazy lady what she wants to hear, but there’d been something in his eyes.

This is not a revelation he’d ever hoped to have in front of his subordinates, while watching Malcolm being assaulted, hearing her threaten him with further abuse and his eventual death. Gil’s having a hard time processing it all. He’s more or less removed himself from the case, acknowledging that he’s nearly useless, and letting his team do their jobs and find their boy.

It’s getting late, nearing the 24 hour mark since Gil left Malcolm alone at the bar. He should have stayed, kept an eye on the kid. None of this would have happened if he’d just stayed. When Gil manages to pull himself from his thoughts he’s alone again. He doesn’t even remember JT leaving. Now that he knows who their suspect is, he’s been replaying the night at the bar over and over in his head, trying to think of anything he might have missed.

Dani’s words, and their suspect’s assumptions about his relationship with Malcolm, color his memories now, and he’s hyper-aware of every time he’d touched Malcolm, how natural it was to reach out for him, to guide him through the bar. He thinks about how close they’d been standing by the bar and how it would look from the outside; leaning in like lovers whispering endearments or having a serious conversation. Little things that had perfectly reasonable explanations but that to the casual observer would paint their relationship in a very different light.

Gil sighs, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to snap himself out of it. This is… not like him. He’s been doing this long enough that he’s become a master of compartmentalization. But Malcolm means so much to him, and the double revelation of exactly how deep those feelings go on both their parts along with the fact that he could very easily lose him at any moment are wreaking havoc on his ability to function professionally.

The loud bang of a door coming from the video feed pierces the silence of the room and draws his attention back to the screen immediately. Malcolm stirs, curling in on himself instinctively, drawing his legs in to his chest and curling his shoulders inwards. His eyes flutter open and he blinks up at where she must be standing just beyond the view of the camera.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out, his voice rough and low. 

“I know you are. You’re starting to see, aren’t you? Starting to realize what you’ve done?” she asks, walking towards him, into the frame. She circles him, looking down at him, every inch a predator observing her prey.

Gil forgets to breathe as he watches, his hands clenched into fists as he watches, terrified of what might come next. She’d never killed any of her other victims this early. Surely, _surely_ they still have time.

She stops behind Malcolm and pulls him up to his knees so he’s facing the camera. He whimpers, the sound broken and pitiful as she yanks him roughly into place. He keeps his head bowed and Gil suspects it’s for their benefit, that Malcolm doesn’t want them to have to see how much he’s suffering. As if they can’t tell just by watching.

She rests her hands on Malcolm’s shoulders and leans down so her head is next to his, and though she’s talking to him, she lifts her eyes to look directly into the camera.

“Smile for the camera, baby. Tell your love how much you miss them, how sorry you are. They’re the ones who need to hear it.”

Malcolm shudders at her words, shaking his head, refusing to look up. She grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head up anyways. He grimaces, but obeys, opening his eyes and looking into the camera.

“Do it! Stop fighting me, and this will go so much easier for you,” she snarls.

The door to the conference room bursts open and Dani and JT rush in. 

“Boss, we’ve got a name and an address. The techs are confirming it with their location data now,” Dani tells him.

“Shit,” JT mutters under his breath, eyes fixed on the screen. 

Dani turns her attention there, too, paling.

“How long?” Gil asks, rising to his feet, most of his focus still on the screen.

“Um. They said 10 minutes. 15 tops. We put in for a warrant, too. We can go get him as soon as we have the confirmation,” Dani answers without looking away from the screen.

“Let’s go,” Gil says. He pulls out his phone and opens the link to the feed there, unwilling to stop watching even as they’re on their way to get Bright. He can see that Dani and JT are about to argue, but he cuts them off. “I’m going with. One of you drive. Let’s go.”

On screen, Malcolm begins to speak. Gil watches as closely as he can as they make their way out of the precinct and down to JT’s car.

“Gil, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking when he says Gil’s name, and it cuts the older man to the core. “I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have stayed. I should have been more careful.”

That seems to anger his captor for some reason and she pulls harshly on his hair, shaking his head and snarling something into his ear that the camera doesn’t quite pick up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Malcolm cries out. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry I… that I was talking to other people. That I drank too much, that I wasn’t careful. I miss you. Hurry, _please_.”

His captors tuts. “No tears for your love? That’s a shame. It must not hurt enough. Let me show you what it feels like,” she mutters.

They’re in the car now, the location a 20 minute drive from the precinct, _if_ the techs confirm it’s the right address. Gil refuses to think about what they’ll do if it’s not.

Malcolm’s captor is moving, leaning in close to Malcolm, keeping his head up with the hand fisted in his hair and sliding her other forearm across his throat. 

Malcolm’s eyes go wide as soon as she does, and he fights weakly against her hold, but she has the upper hand. She grabs her opposite elbow, holding him securely in a choke hold that he doesn’t have the leverage to escape from. She squeezes, and Gil can hear Malcolm’s panicked wheezing through the feed.

“What’s happening?” Dani asks.

“She’s, she’s choking him,” Gil gasps out. “We need to hurry.”

“You feel that?” the woman asks. “The burn, the ache in your chest? How you can’t quite catch your breath?”

Malcolm nods feebly, still fighting for each breath. She hasn’t cut off his air supply completely, but it’s clear that taking each breath is a struggle.

“That’s how he feels. _Gil_. Knowing you left him, that you don’t love him enough to stay faithful to him. It hurts _so much_.”

“Techs just confirmed the location. We’re 10 minutes out,” Dani calls out.

“Hang in there, kid,” Gil murmurs. “We’re almost there.”

***

Malcolm’s throat and lungs are burning. It’s getting harder to take each breath, and he’s slipping closer and closer to full-blown panic and hyperventilating. He doesn’t know what she _wants_ from him. If it was tears she’d wanted, she’s definitely getting those now.

Finally, finally, she releases him. He sucks in a desperate breath, falling to the floor as soon as she’s no longer holding him upright.

“I am, sorry,” he gasps out between breaths. “I’m sorry… you… were hurt. But you… are going… to regret this. He’s coming for me,” Malcolm warns her with as much venom in his voice as he can muster. He’s done, done playing her games, pretending to be sorry for something he didn’t even do. He _knows_ that Gil and the team will find him.

His captor snarls, loud and feral. She pushes him over onto his front with her foot, and Malcolm hears the familiar click of a knife being flicked open. His breath catches in his throat, fear coursing through him as she leans over him and he can’t see her, can’t see the knife, but he knows it’s there and he’s suddenly aware of every vulnerable point on his body that she could reach.

His hands are so numb he doesn’t even realize what she’s doing at fist, until the rope slips free of his wrists and the blood starts flowing through his fingers once more in an agonizing trickle. He whimpers as his arms flop uselessly apart, his shoulder muscles protesting as they’re forced to move again after being held immobile for so long. _Freedom shouldn’t be so painful,_ he thinks as he makes a weak attempt at getting his arms to work properly. They don’t. His hands feel like they’re on fire, and his shoulders are weak and aching. He groans, equal parts pain and frustration as he lays, helpless still, despite being released from his bonds.

She doesn’t give him much time to try. She steps over him, leaning down to grab his left hand and lift it up towards her. He winces in pain, biting back on a moan. He manages to get his right arm under him and pushes himself up, attempting to pull away from her, but she kicks him again, sending him falling back to the floor with a ragged moan.

She’s holding his wrist in a strong grip with both hands, and when she looks down at him there’s a cruelty burning in her eyes that hadn’t been there before that makes Malcolm shrink away from her.

“What are you doing?” he gasps out, trying in vain to pull his hand away. 

Her grip remains firm, and when she wraps the fingers of one hand firmly around his ring finger he realizes with horrified realization what she plans on doing.

“Stop, no. Look I’m not married! This is—you don’t have to—” his words cut off, turning to a scream as she yanks his finger back, breaking it with an audible _snap_ in one harsh pull. He pounds his right hand against the floor as he struggles to fight through the pain that’s shooting through his hand and down his arm. She drops his hand and it falls limply against the floor. Then, she stomps on it. 

Malcolm howls in pain once more, yanking his hand back as soon as she lifts her foot and cradling it to his chest, protecting it with his right hand. He’s crying, tears streaming freely from his eyes as the pain radiates down his arm and across the left side of his chest.

She reaches behind him, grabbing the rope that had been tied around his wrists, and kneels in front of him, pulling his arms out far enough that she can wrap the rope around his wrists once more. Malcolm can’t even gather himself enough to fight her; each tug of the rope sends a fresh wave of pain lancing down his arm, and he just wants it to be over.

“Now, _now_ you’re really sorry,” she declares triumphantly. “He doesn’t want you anymore! No one is coming for you!” she continues to scream.

She hasn’t even finished speaking when the door slams open and Gil rushes in, gun raised, followed by Dani and JT.

***

The last 10 minutes of the drive are the longest of Gil’s life. He watches, heart in his throat, as the bitch continues to choke Malcolm, taunting him and berating him for imaginary sins. When they finally arrive he’s almost afraid to put the phone down, fighting against an irrational fear that as soon as he stops watching, she’ll kill Malcolm. He knows it isn’t true, and that the sooner they get in there, the sooner the kid will be safe. But he still feels a jolt of fear when he shoves the phone in his pocket.

They go in silently, clearing the house room by room as they search for the basement stairs. A gut-wrenching scream echoes out from below them, and Gil can feel the blood leaving his face, his heart stuttering in his chest at the sound. It’s unmistakably Malcolm, and Gil hopes his fears weren’t justified, that Malcolm isn’t being murdered below them.

Dani finds the stairs and they descend them as quietly as possible. Halfway down another cry fills the air, quieter than the first but just as agonized. Gil’s in the lead, and he gives a wordless countdown with his fingers before throwing the door open, rushing in, gun at the ready.

The suspect complies immediately once they enter the basement, much to his relief. Her eyes grow wide with shock as soon as she sees him, eyebrows drawing together in disbelief. “You came, why would you come, why would you want him,” she starts to mutter even as JT cuffs her and starts to read her her rights, leading her from the room.

As soon as he’s sure she’s no longer a threat Gil rushes to Malcolm’s side.

“Bright, hey kid. Hey, we’re here. You okay? The bus is on it’s way,” he tells him, checking every inch of his body for blood or any other sign of injury as he starts to work at the ropes around his wrists.

Malcolm hisses in pain as soon as he does, flinching away from Gil’s touch.

“Kid?” Gil asks, stilling, hands hovering over Malcolm’s hands uncertainty.

“I’m alright. I’m okay. It’s just my hand,” Malcolm gasps out. “Finger’s broken.”

Gil notices the way he’s cradling his left hand in his right, then, and he can see the vivid discoloration spreading across Malcolm’s hand already.

“Shit, kid. I’m sorry. We got here as fast as we could,” Gil says, nearly sobbing, his emotions a mix of relief at having found Malcolm alive, and horror at the mass of bruises covering the kid’s body.

He pulls the small pocket knife he keeps clipped to his belt free and cuts the ropes off of Malcolm’s ankles, then turns his attention back to his wrists.

“I’m going to cut these ropes off, okay. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”

“Yeah, okay,” Malcolm agrees. He sucks in a breath, steeling himself for the inevitable spike of pain. Even after his wrists are freed, Malcolm keeps his hands held in close to his body, cradling his injured hand tenderly, eyes closed as he breathes through the pain.

Gil reaches out to brush stray strands of hair out of his face, and Malcolm’s eyes blink open. He looks up at Gil and smiles wearily.

“Glad you’re here, Gil. I told her you’d come.”

“I’ll always come for you, kid,” Gil assures him, cupping the back of his head gently and brushing his thumb softly across Malcolm's unbruised cheek.

Malcolm looks up at him, eyes so full of emotions he’s afraid to name that it makes Gil’s heart clench in his chest. They’re alone, for now, Dani having gone up to direct the paramedics when they arrive, and Gil lets himself get lost in the look in Malcolm’s eyes. He leans forward and presses his lips against Malcolm’s forehead, tentative and tender.

Malcolm gasps softly but doesn’t turn away. Rather, he tilts his head up, lips parted, and Gil takes it as an invitation, presses his lips to Malcolm’s in a soft kiss. Malcolm sighs contentedly against his lips, lifting his head to press his lips more firmly against Gil’s. Gil curls his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Malcolm’s neck and holds him close for a moment more before pulling away.

“Huh,” Malcolm huffs, pupils blown wide as he flicks his tongue over his lips and stares up at Gil. “Guess she might have been right about some things after all.”

Gil laughs, shaking his head in mock despair. “You’re making jokes,” he murmurs as he has so many times before.

“Not a joke,” Malcolm mumbles, expression growing serious. “Want you, Gil.” 

Gil can hear footsteps above them and knows they don’t have long, but he doesn’t pull away just yet. 

“Me too, Bright. We’ll figure it out, alright? I’m not going anywhere, ever again.”


End file.
